"The angels are not more pure than the heart of a young man who loves with fervor," [says Madame Dudevant]. The hyperbole is scarcely less than true. It would be truth itself, were it averred of the love of him who is at the same time young and a poet. The boyish poet-love is indisputably that one of the human sentiments which most nearly realizes our dreams of the chastened voluptuousness of heaven."

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The question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence-- whether much that is glorious-- whter all that is profound-- does not spring from disease of thought-- from moods of mind exalted at the expense of general intellect.  They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.  In their gray visions they obtain visions of eternity, and thrill, in awakening, to find that they have been on the verge of the great secret. ...
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"'Nevermore,' because, two hundred years before Taylor Swift, some girl said 'never... ever.'"
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